Pretend That I Am Okay
by alynwa
Summary: Originally written for the Song Story challenge on LJ. The prompt is "The Pretender" by Jackson Browne.


Their latest affair had been horrific almost from the beginning. Murphy's Law was created for fiascos like that mission had been; Innocents injured and killed, agents tortured and killed, his partner saving him from certain death and almost paying the ultimate price himself. Fortunately for both of them, for once, the Solo luck had attached itself to Illya and they made it out of the fortress before the self – destruct sequence had counted down to zero.

They had both been released, Illya first, from Medical to recuperate at home from their physical trauma. Psych insisted they remain out of the field until such time as the headshrinkers could determine if there had been permanent psychological damage. They were staying at Napoleon's since his release as he was still, theoretically, on bed rest even though currently he was sitting on his sofa working his way through his second bottle of scotch while the faster drinking Russian was on his third bottle of vodka. They had agreed mutually that getting drunk on a Friday night just seemed like the perfect idea.

"Illya," Napoleon slurred, "Illya, Illya; I have had it."

The blond looked up at his partner from the seat he had taken on the floor with glazed over eyes. "Vhat, I mean, _what_ do you mean, Na…Na…Polya?"

"I mean," the American said as he struggled to sit upright, "that I don't want to do…" He waved his arm around his body, "_this _anymore. I'm going to quit UNCLE!"

Illya stared at him for several long, speechless minutes. He poured himself another shot and held it up. "_Tovarisch, _ve are partners. If you leave UNCLE, _I _leave UNCLE." He downed the shot and wiped his mouth. Vhat vill we do in our new lives?" he asked in a thickening Russian accent.

Napoleon let his head loll back on the back of the couch and closed his eyes. Illya thought he had gone to sleep, but just as he was about to stretch out to do the same, Napoleon spoke. "I'm going to become a regular Joe. I'm going to find me a girl to love who loves me and wants nothing from me except love. We'll buy a house and I'll get a job and we'll laugh all day and make love all night. And we'll be _happy._"

Illya took in what he heard and bobbed his head in what was supposed to be agreement, but looked more like he was having a problem holding it up. "_Ya boodoo, ya znayti drooʐinoo, tyeʐ. Mi boodye oryendoovati boodinok, moʐye booti porooch z vami. Mi moʐyemo booti soosіdіv."_

"My Russian's a little fuzzy, I didn't get that."

"Sorry, that was, that was Ukrainian. I was saying I will do the same thing as you. Except, I vill make my own lunch! Do you want to stay in New York?"

"No. Oops," he said as he sloshed some of his scotch onto the coffee table, "Let's move to, to, to…_somewhere else!_"

"_Da. _Vhere?"

"I dunno; somewhere where bringing your lunch to work is normal. Where being _normal _is normal."

The Russian eased down to the floor and bent his arm so he could rest his head on it. "That is too much to think about now. Let us talk about it in the morning."

"Okay," Napoleon muttered as he also slid down to a prone position and began to drift away, "We'll make plans then."

The next morning, Napoleon awoke feeling like he had been hit in the head with a building, a hairy building that had forced itself into his mouth and taken up residence. He started to sit up and thought better of it. Only his bladder convinced him to make another effort. He got up and narrowly avoided stepping on Illya, who lay practically at his feet snoring like six buzz saws going through redwoods.

"Illya? What are you doing down there?"

The Russian rolled over onto his back and looked up at his partner before shielding his eyes from the encroaching daylight peeking through the drapes. "_Chyort! _Why is it so bright in here? Nevermind, help me up."

Both men toddled off to their respective bathrooms and then converged on the kitchen where Napoleon began making a pot of very strong coffee. "The shrinks will be here at one o'clock," he said.

"I remember," Illya replied, "How much do _you _remember about last night?"

Napoleon poured coffee into two extra – large mugs and handed one to his partner. "I remember that I was…pretending to be fed up and telling you I was quitting UNCLE. You didn't take me seriously, did you?"

The blond man snorted, "Of course not! I just went along with what you were saying." He drank deeply of his coffee and looked at nothing.

After minutes of silence, Napoleon glanced at Illya and asked, "It's nice to pretend sometimes, isn't it?"

Illya topped off his cup and then, Napoleon's. "Yes, it is."


End file.
